


The Good Prince

by Star_Crow



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Children, Doraelin, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Future Fic, King Dorian - Freeform, Pregnancy, Queen Aelin, royal family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 09:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11033106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Crow/pseuds/Star_Crow
Summary: Dorian had been overjoyed when his father had sent him away to the summer palace. The difference was that Dorian hadn’t been loved. Alec was certainly loved if nothing else.





	The Good Prince

Dorian Havilliard had lived a long life in his forty-four years and he liked to think he’d learned a thing or two about his world.

He was a scholar king. He knew big things.

The positions of every town and city in Adarlan, their distances relative to Rifthold and Orynth. He knew the names of every star in every constellation in Terrasen’s sky, could recognize every peak in the White Fang Mountains. He knew the population of Rifthold to the nearest ten. He knew the family trees of every monarchy in Erilea, back over a hundred years. He’d read nearly a quarter of all the books in the Library of Orynth.

He was a husband, a father. Dorian knew little things.

The exact angle that Aelin liked the window open at night, how much milk she liked in her tea, the coordinates of the divine places where she liked to be touched. He knew the times at which each of his children had been born, down to the glorious seconds when they each took their first breaths. He knew what their first words had been.

He knew that his son, Alec, would sleep best when he had three pillows. He knew that Isabel wrote with her left hand although she did everything else with her right. He would recognize the brown of Edric’s eye anywhere, like treacle whiskey, matured for a thousand years or more. He could recite the order of the books that were always stacked on Artemis’ bedside table. He could draw the patterns of freckles of Emmett’s cheeks to impeccable detail.

These were as permanent in his brain as a brand on his skin.

One would think, that after forty-four years surviving, Dorian would know himself best. That he knew his limitations.

One would be wrong.

“You know, I was thinking Tristan.” Aelin started as she busied herself around the room, hanging the day’s discarded dresses back into her wardrobe.

Dorian forced himself to open his eyes, as if his lids were as heavy as boulders. It was a joke. Orynth’s weather was one of the most constant things in the king’s life. He could count on that when he opened the drapes in the morning, he’d see silvery mist stretching up to the sky. He’d feel a refreshingly cold breeze on his face, the damp, earthy smell of the mountain ranges. Today, beams of fiery white sunlight pierced the seemingly infallible cloud layer. Right into the eyes of an extremely hungover king.

“Tristan as in what?” Dorian groaned, trying in vain to push himself into a sitting position.

Aelin abandoned her attempts at wardrobe organization and wandered over to his bedside. This close, his senses were assaulted by the familiar scents of his wife in the morning. Lavender oil in her hair, peppermint in her breath, the odd waft of her rosy perfume. Over the years, they had grown as comforting to him as a good blanket.

The queen perched on the edge of the mattress, as near as she could get without sitting on him, and leaned over him.

“Hello? Is Dorian Havilliard in there or should I call later?” she smirked, tapping his forehead lightly with her knuckles. Dorian pushed her hand away playfully, catching her fist in his hand. “Tristan as in the baby, you drunkard.”

Dorian didn’t know why Aelin bothered. They had never, not once, managed to name any of their babies before they’d come into the world. They just didn’t agree until they were put on the spot. He said ‘they’ in his head. In truth, Dorian had only chosen Isabel’s name. Their sons had all had their names picked by Aelin.

“Tristan,” Dorian repeated, trying it on his tongue. “Where’d you get that from?”

“Isabel suggested it. It’s from this really old book she’s reading.”

“Tristan and Isolde?” He raised an eyebrow. “Tristan dies at the end.”

“Oh,” Aelin grimaced. “Maybe not then.” She rolled onto her back beside him. “What about Dorian Junior?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want a child named after me. It’s pretentious.” Dorian rolled his eyes, his hand drifting to the small curve of Aelin’s belly. “Anyway, you’re wasting time. You know you won’t be able to decide on anything until he or she is born.”

“It’s another boy, I’m sure of it, though I wish I could give Isabel that little sister she’s always wanted.” The queen admitted, putting her hand on top of her husband’s.

“No more after this. I won’t have you risking your life,” Dorian reminded her firmly.

Dorian loved his children more than anything, but the experiences bringing their last three babies into the world had been horrible, had haunted Dorian’s dreams till that very day.

Twins were always a huge ask on the mother but theirs had been particularly difficult, even with all the healers there for her. Two long days and nights, Aelin had been in agony with her contractions but there had been no sign of delivery. Aelin finally pushed Edric out into the world by the third morning, but his brother did not follow. Artemis did not arrive until the night. By that point, Aelin had been barely conscious. It had taken her weeks to recover her strength.

Emmett’s birth had been much shorter, only a few hours, but it had been the worst of all. It was weeks premature and Aelin had lost so much blood. More than anyone could afford to lose. It had been touch and go. Dorian had genuinely thought that he was going to lose his wife, and he wasn’t the only one. The Council demanded that Dorian sign the regency bill. Dorian had no desire to ever rule Terrasen. The people accepted him, but only because of their love for Aelin and the love she had for him in turn. It was why he was only named Prince Consort. Alec had been fourteen at the time. A four-year regency would have been hard. Luckily, Aelin did live, but she’d been on the cusp of death first.

“At least Alec is old enough to be king now.” Aelin reasoned, moving her hand to rest on Dorian’s clavicle.

Dorian shook his head. “He’s old enough, but not ready. Especially after his performance last night.”

“Oh, Dorian, he’s still a boy. Let him have some fun. Besides, there’s nothing left to teach him. He’s finished his education. He’s been appointed the heir in a ceremony. Our people support him …” She trailed off.

“He’s not a boy. He’s twenty years old. Alec has had everything handed to him on a plate like all princes do. He’s not spoiled, but he needs to learn responsibility,” Dorian said, entwining his hand with hers. “Perhaps, you’ll consider sending him away.”

Aelin seemed to stiffen. Alec had always been his mother’s boy and he wouldn’t, nor would he ever, grow out of it. “Send him away where?”

“To one of our properties that we don’t use. The Summer Gardens in Suria, maybe. I used to live there with Chaol when I was a teenager. Having his own household will teach him how to run one properly. It’ll be on a much smaller scale than a palace, I admit, but the principle is the same everywhere. It’ll do him the world of good.”

He didn’t say it because he knew it would upset her, but being away from Aelin would stop him from being coddled so much.

“But he’ll miss the baby being born.” The queen placed her free hand on her abdomen.

“He can visit.” He replied dismissively. There was quiet for a moment.

“I don’t know, Dorian,” Aelin eventually murmured. “Suria is so far away and he’s still so young.”

“I was already king by his age and I didn’t have half the tutoring that Alec has had. You were queen and you had even less experience. Hell, we were fighting a war by then,” Dorian laughed sardonically. “If only our greatest responsibility had been looking after a summer house for a year or two.”

“Alright, fine. We’ll send him to Suria for a year,”

Dorian took a breath in.

“A year. That’s my offer.” She repeated sternly.

The breath was let go. “Alright, fine. A year.”

“We’ll see how it goes. If it works out, he can stay there,” Aelin conceded, looking up at her husband. “And Isabel?”

Now it was Dorian’s turn to get tense. If Aelin had a soft spot for Alec, then Dorian had one for his daughter. Alec and Isabel were complimentary, in a way. Alec looked remarkably like his father, but he was all Aelin on the inside. Isabel was a near perfect likeness to Aelin, but her temperament was more reminiscent of her father. They made their connections that way. Dorian had a kind of mutual understanding with Isabel, right from the moment that Aelin had placed her in his arms. Birds of a feather, Aelin said.

“What about Isabel?”

“She’s sixteen now, too. Almost an adult. Maybe we should send her with Alec.”

“Isabel isn’t going to be queen.”

“She might be someone’s queen. We won’t be arranging a marriage for her but who’s to say she won’t fall in love with another Erilean prince on her own?

“But what are the chances-”

“As good as anyone else’s, as you well know,” Aelin retorted, prodding his chest. “Arrangement or not, the other princes in Erilea are certainly interested. Even if she doesn’t marry a prince, she’s not going to want to live in the palace forever. She’s going to want her own home and she’s going to need to know how to run it.”

Dorian’s jaw tightened. “She’s still young. Maybe in a few years time.”

“When she’s eighteen, she goes, too.”

“But-”

“It’s only fair. Promise me?”

Dorian considered making this a battle of wills, but rarely did he emerge victorious against Aelin. Her resolve was made of hardened steel. He was more malleable. He wanted to be fair to Alec, his son, the second person that he’d ever fallen in love with.

“Promise.”

Aelin smiled at him, rolling off the bed. “Get dressed, or we’ll be late for breakfast.”

Dorian watched her go as she sauntered across the room to his side of the wardrobe, pulling out a loose white shirt and brown jodhpurs.

“I would if you weren’t purloining my clothes,” Dorian mumbled, pushing the blankets from his legs.

He wasn’t exactly surprised. It wasn’t unusual for Aelin to wear his clothes, but he never had to share his wardrobe more than when she was pregnant.

She either didn’t hear him or didn’t deign to reply, buttoning up the shirt over her belly. “We can tell Alec about Suria at breakfast.” She said instead.

Dorian shifted uncomfortably. Alec was a good kid with a good heart, but he wasn’t sure how he was going to take the news that he was being dismissed from his own home. Dorian had been overjoyed when his father had sent him to the summer palace, but Dorian hadn’t been loved. Alec was certainly loved if nothing else.

“Maybe we should wait until after we’ve made the plans. He’s probably not going to be in the best of states this morning.” He suggested, reaching for a flagon of water on his bedside table.

“If he finds out before we tell him ourselves, he’ll be furious. We’ll tell him today.”

Dorian sighed.

Today was going to be a long day.


End file.
